


Where I Drop My Anchor

by casuallyhl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:00:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casuallyhl/pseuds/casuallyhl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t want you to go,” Harry murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut. He drops Louis’ t-shirt in his own lap and runs his hands up and down Louis’ sides.</p><p>Gentle fingers caress the sides of Harry’s face. “Don’t want to go,” Louis responds, his voice also quiet.</p><p>Or, Harry helps Louis pack for LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Drop My Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first ever fic, and I am so excited about it! It has been so much fun to write, so I hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> This takes place sometime in late June/early July 2016 during one of the weeks Louis went MIA. This is my take on what he was doing.
> 
> A massive, One Direction sized thank you to Rachel. Thank you for editing this fic and not letting me slack on grammar. Thank you for introducing me to fic and being so supportive in my writing. Happy Birthday!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Babe, can you pass me that jumper?”

Harry looks up from his phone to see where Louis is pointing. The grey jumper Harry wore yesterday evening is laying haphazardly over the arm of the chair he is now sitting on. 

Harry shifts his hips to pull the jumper out from under him before gently throwing it to where Louis is sitting cross-legged on the beige carpet, an open suitcase and a pile of clothes in front of him. 

“Why do you need this?” Harry asks. “It’s too hot in LA for a jumper.”

“It’s hot in France too, but that didn’t stop you from wearing it last night,” Louis returns easily, not glancing in Harry’s direction. As he speaks, he folds the jumper carefully before placing it inside his suitcase. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry sets his phone on the chair’s armrest before standing up. There’s no reason to be scrolling through Twitter when he could be spending time with Louis instead, especially when Louis leaves tomorrow morning. Harry walks over to where Louis is sitting on the ground before crouching down behind him and wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist, chin hooking over Louis’ shoulder. 

“I wore it last night because someone asked me to,” Harry replies, murmuring quietly into Louis’ ear. 

Louis shrugs as if Harry’s words don’t affect him. “And now I’m packing it and taking it with me.”

Harry huffs a sigh, one that he knows Louis will be aware is born of endearment and not annoyance.

It is impossible to be annoyed at Louis – his wonderful Louis who flew for over ten hours from LA to France so that they could spend a couple of days together. Unfortunately, Harry’s film schedule while on _Dunkirk_ doesn’t allow him the time for frequent transatlantic flights to visit Louis. But thankfully, even though Louis is busy in LA, his PR managers handle the majority of his work which allows him plenty of time to visit Harry.

Louis has been in Dunkirk with him for the past eight days. He arrived at the rental house late last Tuesday night, sleepy and grumpy from the long flight. Despite his exhaustion, he let Harry kiss him and stay wrapped around him as Louis dragged him upstairs to their bed before promptly falling asleep against Harry’s chest. 

The next day, when Louis was a bit more rested, Harry showed him around Dunkirk, taking him to a secluded spot on the beach where they walked and kissed and shared any details they forgot to mention in one of their daily phone calls. Louis stuck closely to Harry’s side, and every touch they shared seemed to remind them of how starved they were of each other. When Harry finished telling Louis a story about how he accidentally fell overboard while filming on a lifeboat, Louis seemed to decide enough was enough. He leaned up and whispered in Harry’s ear, “Take me to bed, soldier.” Harry decided the tour of Dunkirk could wait for another day.

The rest of Louis’ visit alternated between visiting the set so that he could meet Harry’s cast mates and finally see Harry act, spending long hours in bed while pressing soft kisses to even softer skin, and fucking one another hard and fast until they were both coming quickly, shaking against one another. 

The past week has been pure bliss, and Harry doesn’t want Louis to go back to LA. Louis might be packing his bags, but it feels like he only just arrived. Harry sighs, reminding himself that this is Louis’ last solo trip to LA for the foreseeable future. The next time he visits Harry, he’ll be riding the winds of a news story about a negative paternity test and a break up with a girlfriend. The news will report that Louis is devastated and has retreated home to England to be surrounded by the comfort of family and friends. In reality, he’ll be celebrating his freedom with his boyfriend of six years while in a French house overlooking the sea. Harry can barely wait. 

But for now, Louis is packing. From where Harry is wrapped behind him, he peers over Louis’ shoulder into the offending bag.

“Heeey,” Harry says, his brows furrowing. “You’re packing my Stones shirt.”

“I am.” 

“But it’s my favorite shirt,” Harry protests. “You’re already taking half my wardrobe with you. Can’t you take another shirt?” 

Louis shakes his head. “No. I’m only taking the shirts you’ve worn the past few days. The Stones shirt was one of them, so it’s coming with me.”

“But why?”

Louis sighs in faked exasperation. “Since you wore it the other day it still smells like you, and none of the clothes in our closet in LA do anymore. At least, not as strongly as these do. So I’m taking them.” He says it all so quickly that Harry would have no idea what he was saying if not for the fact that he has years of practice in deciphering Louis’ embarrassed mumbles. 

Harry smiles against Louis’ cheek. “Aw, Lou. That’s so nice. I miss your smell when you’re gone too.”

Louis huffs a laugh. “I know you do. That’s why I left some of my t-shirts in your dresser.”

“Really? Which ones?” Harry asks excitedly, hopping up to race over to the dresser, opening the top drawer to see where Louis folded his clothing. Inside are about five of Louis’ t-shirts and two tank tops. Harry pulls one out to sniff, Louis laughing behind him as Harry breathes in the sweet and familiar smell.

“Thanks,” Harry smiles, dropping back down onto the floor while clutching the t-shirt to press a chaste kiss to Louis’ mouth. 

Louis pulls back enough to whisper, “You’re welcome, love,” before catching Harry’s lips in another kiss. Their lips move easily against one another, Louis sucking sweetly on Harry’s plump bottom lip while Harry presses his mouth more firmly against Louis’. 

Harry misses everything about Louis when they’re apart – his constant chatter about football, the adorable coos he makes at Ernest and Doris over FaceTime, his chronic need to wear Harry’s clothing – but by far what Harry misses most is kissing Louis. Harry loves waking up Louis by pressing kisses all over his shoulder, kissing him as they cook dinner together, kissing him just because, kissing him with just enough tongue to make him crazy before Harry fucks him thoroughly. In terms of favorite activities, kissing Louis is at the top of his list. 

The way Louis always eagerly returns Harry’s kisses with the same amount of passion is a constant reminder that Louis loves kissing him too. 

As does the soft whine Louis lets out when Harry pulls back. Harry presses his forehead to Louis’ and breathes deeply in an attempt to calm his racing pulse.

“Don’t want you to go,” Harry murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut. He drops Louis’ t-shirt in his own lap and runs his hands up and down Louis’ sides.

Gentle fingers caress the sides of Harry’s face. “Don’t want to go,” Louis responds, his voice also quiet.

They stay like that for a moment: eyes closed, foreheads together, breathing one another in. Harry knows their separation will only be temporary, and it’s nothing they haven’t done one hundred times before, but letting Louis go has never gotten any easier. 

Louis’ fingers drift from Harry’s cheeks to his chin, gently pushing his head back so that Louis can look him in the eyes.

Echoing Harry’s thoughts, Louis whispers, “Won’t be long now.”

Harry sighs, but smiles anyways. 

Louis returns the smile, and then brushes his fingers through Harry’s hair. 

“Are you used to it yet?” Louis asks after a bit, his fingers scratching lightly at Harry’s scalp. At Harry’s slightly confused expression, he adds, “Your short hair, I mean.”

Harry hums. Truthfully, he misses his long, curly hair. By the time he had cut it, his hair had grown past his chest. Three years of growing it out, and now Harry has the shortest hair he’s had since before he left school. It’s not even curly like it was when he first started in the band; it’s stick straight like it was when he was a child and didn’t want his hair to grow out at all. The sides of his head are shaved close, but the top of his hair is a bit longer. He can still style it a little, put it in a quiff or let it hang across his forehead like fringe. It gets styled back for the film, but when he’s with Louis, he likes to just let his hair be. 

“I’m getting used to it,” Harry admits eventually. “But I do miss my long hair. I loved how it looked and I loved being able to put it up. Now it’s just short and kinda boring.” Louis doesn’t respond, continuing to run his fingers through the short strands.

“Do _you_ miss it?” Harry asks, curious.

Louis’ fingers still in Harry’s hair for a moment, but then he continues petting, a smirk on his face. “Of course I do. You know half the reason I fell in love with you was because of your curls.”

Harry groans, rolling his eyes. “Lou…”

“No, I’m serious,” Louis says, but his teasing tone betrays him. “I mean, when I first met you, I was just obsessed with your curls. I’m sure you remember.”

“I do,” Harry smiles. He remembers how Louis would always run his hands through Harry’s hair, even when they were on camera and the producers had told him for the one hundredth time to _keep his hands to himself_. 

“Your curls were always so soft, and I always wanted to touch them,” Louis smiles playfully. “So I did, and apparently I petted you so much that you developed some kind of dependency on me and became my boyfriend.”

Harry giggles, unable to stop himself. “That’s not exactly how I remember it, but if you say so.”

They sit like that for a moment, grinning at each other with Louis’ hands still buried in Harry’s hair. Harry doesn’t think they are usually this sappy, but maybe the fact that Louis will be leaving in sixteen hours gives them a pass on anything particularly embarrassing that they say. 

Louis gives Harry’s head another scratch before dropping his hands onto Harry’s in his lap. He plucks the t-shirt out of Harry’s lap and folds it carefully. “Either way, I do love your hair now. I mean, of course I miss your long hair. I always loved running my fingers through the long curls. It was relaxing to me. And pulling it to make you come became second nature.” He grins before continuing, " _But_ thankfully I have the hottest boyfriend in the whole world and he can pull off any hair style that he so chooses. Including the army look.” 

Harry beams. “I’m glad you like it, but as soon as the film wraps I’m growing it out again.”

Louis smiles back and says, “Whatever you want, love,” before leaning in for another kiss. 

The kiss starts slow and delicate, Louis teasing with light presses of his mouth against Harry’s. Harry lets Louis lead, and soon Louis’ tongue is tracing the seam of Harry’s lips. The kiss turns heated, Harry pulling Louis into his lap so that Louis can wrap his legs around Harry’s waist. They kiss tenderly, but with hunger. When Harry’s hands drift down from Louis’ sides to rest on the cleft of his arse, Louis pulls back and nips at Harry’s jaw before whining in his ear, “Harry…”

Harry’s breath hitches. “What do you want, babe?”

Louis sucks lightly on Harry’s neck before responding. “I want you to stop distracting me from packing.”

And then he crawls off Harry’s lap and places the suitcase between them. 

Harry can’t help the whine he lets out at the loss. The pink in Louis’ cheeks is the only indication that he is also affected by their kissing. Harry knows Louis wants more too, and is unsure why they’re stopping.

As if he can read Harry’s mind, Louis rolls his eyes. Then he leans in again, placing his mouth right next to Harry’s ear. Harry can’t repress a shiver as Louis whispers, “Tonight I’m going to give it to you for as long as I want, and you are going to come as many times as I want. You’re going to be sore for days, so that you remember me when you’re off being a war hero on film sets. I’m going to give it to you good, babe, but not until tonight.”

Louis leans back with a smirk, and pats the space next to him.

Harry sighs, knowing that anything Louis has planned for later tonight will be worth the wait. Before Louis can protest, Harry drops another quick kiss to Louis’ mouth before moving to sit behind him again. Louis leans easily against Harry, his head resting against Harry’s chest. Louis belongs tucked between Harry’s legs – it’s a fact of life. (Louis rolls his eyes any time Harry actually says this aloud. Harry doesn’t care.) 

“I’m so glad you came,” Harry tells Louis earnestly, squeezing his thigh gently. “So glad you finally were able to come to the set and see what all I’ve been doing and meet everyone.”

Louis laughs warmly. “Yeah, as if I could ever live with myself if I found out I missed seeing you try to twerk while dressed as a soldier from the Second World War.”

Harry pouts on principle, but his lips betray him and curl up at the memory. “I _told_ you that I wasn’t twerking. Someone spilled water on me and I was trying to shake it off.”

Louis leans back against Harry, twisting so that he can bring a hand up to pat condescendingly at Harry’s cheek. “Whatever you say, babe, but I like a soldier who can twerk.”

“You like a soldier who can do more than just twerk,” Harry replies smugly, his cheeks warming and heat pooling in his belly.

Louis’ smile grows, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That I do.”

When Harry and Louis had returned to the house from Louis’ first visit to set, Louis had unashamedly unzipped his backpack to reveal that he had nicked one of Harry’s costumes from set. After Harry sent a quick, panicked text to the head of the costume department to reassure her in case she noticed any costumes missing, Harry learned that Louis didn’t steal the costume because of kleptomania. He wanted Harry to wear it.

That night they role played for hours, Harry in his baggy army costume and Louis naked and sprawled on the bed. At first, Harry had felt clunky and awkward and decidedly unsexy in his costume, but Louis had found it incredibly sexy, coming before Harry even had a chance to get his cock in him. After Louis finally came again from Harry’s cock, he swore up and down it was one of the best orgasms of his life. 

When Harry returned the costume a few days later, he could barely look the costume designer in the eye, praying to any and all deities that he and Louis had been able to rinse out all questionable stains from the rough brown fabric. 

“When the film finishes you’ll have to see if you can keep one of those uniforms,” Louis muses, folding a pair of shorts and placing them in his suitcase. “I think we could definitely get some more use out of it.” 

Harry laughs, squeezing Louis’ hips with his thighs. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You better,” Louis replies, smiling. 

They sit in comfortable silence as Louis finishes packing up the last few articles of clothing. Once everything is packed, Louis zips the bag and lightly kicks it away with his foot. Then he leans his full weight against Harry, and Harry leans back against the bed. He wraps his arms tight around Louis’ middle, and Louis’ arms rest on top of Harry’s. His head lulls back to rest against Harry’s chest.

“I don’t want to go, but I know that the sooner I leave, the sooner I get to come back,” Louis says quietly.

“It’ll fly by,” Harry answers, willing himself to believe it. His fingers trace gentle patterns on Louis’ skin. A smile slowly breaks across his face as he teases, “I’m excited for us to both be back in London so we don’t have to split our closet anymore. I think I’ll miss my Stones shirt even more than I’ll miss you.”

Harry’s not at all surprised by the elbow he receives in the ribs for his comment.

“Oi,” Louis protests. “I’ll never give it back if that’s how you feel.”

Harry chuckles. “Nah, you take it. Your clothes are a poor substitute for you either way, but I want you to have something that reminds you of me.”

Louis twists around to give Harry a smile before pressing his mouth to Harry’s.

As Harry melts into the kiss, he admits to himself that he would willingly give Louis every concert T-shirt and designer blouse he owns, because nothing is better than having Louis happy and always in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Come say hi and let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Tumblr: [casuallyhl](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Tumblr post [here](http://casuallyhl.tumblr.com/post/151580903058/title-where-i-drop-my-anchor-author-casuallyhl)


End file.
